


Fuck Me and My Suits, You Say?

by kye_16



Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Light Dom/sub, M/M, Suit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kye_16/pseuds/kye_16
Summary: A follow-up to 'Fuck You and Your Suits'.Byers has been obsessing over last week's... moment of obscenity with Langly. He hasn't been able to look at his own clothing -- or his partner in publication -- the same way since. Maybe it's not the end of the world, but even if he DID want to do it again, how would a grown man go about trying to make it happen?Not by using open communication, that's for sure.





	Fuck Me and My Suits, You Say?

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ambiguously_anomalous](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ambiguously_anomalous) collection. 



It had been a week since Langly had threatened his good wool blazer. Seven interminably long days since he'd stormed in to Byers's room, all attitude, and whipped out his dick. He didn't know what had driven him to do it – surely he couldn't have been  _ so _ angry about Byers having clean clothes – but even more incomprehensible had been his own reaction. His brain had skipped the track, all right, not just the sight but that sound and the threat (the thrill?) of ruining that crisp, freshly pressed suit jacket... He hadn't gotten so so hard, so fast, since he was fourteen and had caught those two senior girls making out in the woods behind the bus garage. 

He hadn't just wanted Langly to come all over his suit. Part of him had  _ needed _ it.

Byers hesitated in front of his closet door, fingers resting on it ever so lightly. A full week, and he was still obsessing. No, he absolutely did  _ not  _ need anything of the sort. He didn't need to get off, he didn't need a suit to do it, and he certainly didn't need Langly half-choking him with his own tie to get him there.

His mouth was dry as he opened the closet. His ties hung on the rack, organized and sorted, completely innocuous pieces of silk. They almost seemed vulgar now, though not a wrinkle of evidence remained. His fingers ghosted over fabric, eyes wandering, distracted. His slacks were pressed and neat. Every jacket was square on its hanger. His eyes settled on a garment bag containing one of his very best, a dark navy pinstripe in honour of his namesake, and he swallowed hard.

No. Not that one. The thought was sour on his tongue, even as it thrilled in his gut. That would just be wrong. He wasn't so disrespectful, even if he was a...

... A pervert.

_ No. _ Byers shook his head, eyes wandering back through the rest of his modest collection. There was nothing wrong with liking what he liked. He wasn't hurting anyone. Besides, lots of people were aroused by different types of clothing, right? Lingerie, uniforms... heck, even those swimsuit magazines they didn't really print much anymore. There was nothing perverse about it. It was just a shame that it was so difficult to get stains out of good wool. Of course... not everything he owned was good wool.

His fingers hovered a moment, indecisive, before flicking to the furthest end of the section of slacks. A few older polyester blends hung there still, standbys in black and grey. Didn't really hold a crease, but they were so easy to clean.

Well. They had to run some errands anyway, right? Maybe he'd find some more things that needed to be dry-cleaned, could drop them off while he was out. He loosened his tie and began to change.

  


************************************

  


Langly was still at his desk, the same place he'd been all day, fingers clacking away as he muttered to himself. Byers fussed briefly with the hangers in his hand before finally pulling a chair out from the table, draping the clothing in his hands over it, and clearing his throat.

“I'm busy, Byers.” Langly's fingers didn't slow.

“Yeah, I bet,” he shot back. Langly didn't so much as scoff in reply, letting Byers's words hang dead in the sound of keystrokes. “I... I'm going out,” he finally declared.

“No, you're not.”  _ Clickity-clack. _ Words streamed out along the digital page.

__ “Excuse me?”

“Frohike took the van and the list, Byers. I told you he was going today.  _ You _ turned it down, if I recall, because  _ someone _ is too good to be our errand-boy.”

“I have  _ never _ – I am not too good to do the  _ least _ of jobs that need done around here.” Byers huffed. “Unlike some people I could name, who would rather play computer games than wash their own dishes for a change.”

“Sounds like the sort of person who's willing to stay up all hours to make sure a story gets finished on time,” Langly snapped back. His typing paused for half a second before resuming. “Unlike some people  _ I _ could name, who enjoy regular bedtimes and fibre cereals.”

“A regular sleep schedule means I have the energy to get out of bed before noon the next day, so I can do things like pay the bills, and – ” Byers hesitated, sucking in a breath. “ – and do my laundry.”

“Laundry.” Langly shot a glare over one shoulder. “As if your overstuffed fed ass... oh my god. Byers, you have got to be  _ shitting me _ .” He spun his chair around, one hand pointing at the jackets Byers had brought out. “What the hell is that?”

“They're clothes.” Byers straightened, chin out. “Nice clothes, thank you, though I can understand why you wouldn't recognize such a thing.” Langly stood and began to stalk over to him. He fought the urge to bolt, even as his guts began to flutter.

“You're going to the fucking dry-cleaner again, aren't you?”

“I told you, Langly, you can't just – ”

“What the  _ hell _ , Byers!? We're living on shitty coffee and no-name tubs of peanut butter, already. I am not switching to single-ply ass wipe just so you can dress in middle-age corporate chic!” Langly grabbed at the sleeve of one of the jackets he'd brought out. “Hell, what did you even do to it? It's not even dirty! Do you even know what dirty clothes look like?”

Byers opened his mouth to shoot back, only to snap it shut again as he watched a strange look cross Langly's face. His eyes had caught on Byers's tie – the exact same one he had worn last week. They flicked up, catching Byers's gaze before it skittered away.

“What kind of question is that.”

“A fucking simple one.” Langly's voice dropped its previously shrill pitch. “Because I'm starting to wonder about you, Byers. I would have thought you'd learned your lesson last time. You're not usually a slow learner.”

Byers tried to scoff, a bluff even less believable than usual. He dared a look at Langly, catching an expression he knew so well: eyes looking through the upper edge of his glasses, one corner of his mouth pulled back and up, eyebrow not quite peaked. The look of a man who saw the pattern in front of him and, smug, thought himself about to win. Byers rolled his eyes, looking away as he fussed with his dry cleaning.

“That's not an answer,  _ Byers _ .” Langly placed a hand on the suit jackets. “Look at me.”

One breath. Two breaths. He looked back up.

“You want me to show you what a dirty suit looks like? Hmm?” Langly cocked his head ever so slightly. “Right now, while Frohike's out? Smooth, by the way.” Byers choked out a laugh at that, and Langly grinned. He reached out, grabbing hold of Byers's tie and wrapping it once, slowly, around his fist. Byers's breath hitched before the tension had even reached his neck, pulse pounding against his collar, laugh turning to a liquid moan as his eyes rolled shut. The heat of Langly's body drew him close, close enough to hear his own stuttering breaths. “God, you are a dirty little narc, aren't you? Ten years we've worked together, now. I really should have known.”

“I am not! I haven't worked for the government in – ” Byers faltered as Langly gave a sharp tug on the tie. He half-stumbled against Langly's body, hands reaching forward only to pull back just as quick. Langly drew one thigh up against Byers's crotch, letting him rut against it, garnering small, whimpering sounds as his hands continued to make abortive little gestures toward Langly's hips. “Not a narc,” he managed to mutter at Langly's hair.

“Notice you're not arguing the 'dirty' part. I think I'd like to see you try, just now.” His free hand moved to unbutton his pants; more of a struggle than usual, with Byers's eager hips in the way. “Well, maybe not  _ just _ now. Once a narc, always a narc, Byers, and no trying to change the subject. You wanted another lesson?” He reached out, grabbing one flailing forearm. “I've got another lesson for you right here.”

The touch was all Byers needed to give him direction. His hands flew to Langly's pants, shivery and eager, pulling his own hips back as he wrenched on the waistband. He dropped his weight slowly against the tie, eyes flickering up to watch Langly's face as he went down to his knees. Langly lost all pretense as Byers tugged his dick out, still half soft in his hand, and pulled at it briefly, experimentally, before leaning forward and suckling the whole thing into his mouth.

“Holy shit.” Langly nearly buckled against the table as Byers did his level best to suck the dick right off of him. It was only the second time he'd ever tried, and as he worked his mouth in motions he vaguely remembered, he rather hoped he wasn't doing a terrible job of it. Of course, he'd briefly managed to shut Langly up, and that was more evidence than the thickening cock he was about to choke on could ever be. He had just settled into a rhythm when a sharp jerk at his scalp pulled his head still.

“Always knew you were a zealot,” Langly panted. Holding Byers' head in place, he started, ever so lazily, to fuck his mouth. “Never thought it'd be for this, though. Always so uptight about what everyone else is doing, about whether or not they're following the rules. Should have known you'd get off on following them yourself. On learning. Your. Fucking. Lesson.” He punctuated his words with his hips, sharp and shallow, before drawing himself out. He unwound the rumpled strap of silk from around his other hand. “Tie, Byers.” Byers looked up at him quizzically, lips glistening, and Langly gave a sharp yank on his hair. “ _ Take off the tie,  _ John boy, before I have to do it myself.”

Byers took every bit of care slipping the tail out of the knot as he moved, albeit slowly, to do as he was bid. He'd gone from eager to jittery again, guts twisted and fluttering as he pulled the knot clean, flattening the silk and folding it twice in his hands. He felt himself try to sink to the floor, only to have Langly tug him back into place by the scalp. Langly extended his other hand, and Byers reluctantly handed the tie over.

“Top button. Open it.” It was tighter than he'd remembered, fingers almost fumbling the attempt. He watched the tie, watched Langly's dick bobbing almost comically at his face. “Next one, too.” Byers furrowed his brow.

“But if I take the suit off... I mean, I thought you were – ”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I am not standing here to argue with you! Undo the damned button, like a good little fed.” He shook his head, watching as Byers did as he was bid, hands trembling. “Only you would look at two buttons and see the whole suit.” He finally let go of Byers's hair, taking the tie in two hands. He slid his fingers along the fabric, considering the texture, before wrapping it a couple times – very loosely – around his dick.

“ _ Langly! _ ” Byers's breathy attempt at a protest faltered as Langly slid his free hand distractedly back up into Byers's hair, holding the tail of the tie loosely out of the way.

“ _ Byers! _ ” came the catty reply. He began to tug himself off, silk bunching as he moved. “Shit, this isn't half bad.”

“Did... was it not... I can do better...” Langly rolled his eyes.

“You suck dick like a fucking champ, Byers.”

“But...”

“Shut up.” Langly watched his face, half-focused, arching in his own loose grip. Byers tried to lick out, his own hips jerking abortively as he watched, failing miserably as he let himself be held in place. He was trying to be horrified, really he was. But then Langly's eyes were rolling back, and a groan was starting in his throat, and Byers heard himself echo it as Langly stuttered in front of him. Langly opened his eyes again long enough to flash a look downward, and it occurred to Byers just a second too late to open his mouth as Langly's face twisted and the first pulse landed square on his lips. He wrung himself out, spattering a fine mess over Byers's face, his neck, the collar of his shirt. The tie followed close behind, white drizzled across it. He tried to wipe himself clean with it as Byers watched, wrinkled nose totally at odds with the rocking of his pelvis  


“Looks like I missed a spot.” Langly released his death grip on Byers's hair.

“That's not exactly what it feels like.” Byers reached up to wipe his face, only to have Langly bat his hand away. He grabbed hold of his chin instead, using a fresh length of tie to wipe the semen off his face. Or, given the fabric's absorbency, down it.

“This doesn't work as well as I'd hoped.”

“It's  _ silk,  _ Langly! What were you expecting?” Byers smacked at his wrist. Langly just shrugged. He took a short step back, pulling Byers up to his feet, eyeing his handiwork on the tie as he rose.

“Still think it'll work. Face the table.” Langly bent to pull his boxers back up into place.

“Face the... what?”

“You going deaf already? Hm? Face the fucking table.” Byers eyed it warily, as though it might jump up and bite him. “You didn't honestly think I was done with you, did you?” He hauled on Byers's shoulder, pulling him around with a token protest.

“Well I mean, you already... you know, and you really don't have to... I mean you don't owe me anyth _ hrkkk  _ –  _ mrrmph! _ ”

“Thought I told you to shut up, already.” He grabbed Byers's hands as they moved to remove the tie that was now in his mouth, crossing his arms in front of them and stepping forward to hold him flush against his chest. “Owe you anything? I feel bad for you, Byers.” He let go with one hand, reaching down to knead the lump in his trousers. Byers moaned around the sullied fabric. “You think this isn't fun for me? You should see yourself. So buttoned-up and proper, when underneath it all you just want to be wrecked.” He slid his hand over Byers's belt. “I... of course you did.”

Byers didn't even protest. He slid his hands out of Langly's grasp and flipped the belt open with only a second's hesitation. He cocked his head to the side slightly, angling toward where Langly's face hovered by his shoulder. His fingers skated over the tabletop as he gave a muffled, uncertain sound.

“Leave them on the table, for now. Palms down.” Tension shot through Byers as Langly unbuttoned his slacks. His breath came short as Langly slid his hands down the front of his hips, exposing him inch by inch, as ramrod straight through his back as he was in his pants. Well... not so much in his pants, anymore.

He stood shivering, waiting for a touch that wasn't there, wanting and worrying. Langly rubbed along his shirt, along his arms, and it occurred to him belatedly that he was actually making small noises behind the cloth in his mouth. What kind of man made  _ more _ noise with a gag?

“Shh. Don't worry so much, Byers.” Langly reached down one arm, laying his hand over Byers's where it lay on the table, as instructed. The other wandered to his back, rubbing absently. “It's just us, here. You can make all the noise you want.” He leaned in close, proximity shooting sparks down Byers's spine. “Y'know, I  _ want _ to hear it. I want to hear every little sound you make while you're sucking on the taste of me... while I'm making a mess of this very fine suit.” Byers gave half a breath of a laugh at this, at the utter absurdity, and felt Langly grin against him. The knots in his back began to relax in increments. Langly slid back behind him and, with a bit of steady pressure, eased Byers down to lean on his forearms.

“Now, here's how this is going to go.” Langly leaned over Byers, snaking one hand around to tug at him. “You're going to leave that thing in your mouth. Perfect place for it, given how it's basically just a fabric dick. You're going to stand here and take whatever I choose to give you, like the dirty little fed you are. And you're going to make a filthy mess of your  _ own _ goddamned suit.” He began to roll his hips against Byers's ass, where his slacks still sat mid-cheek – pulled down just far enough to expose him – and Byers whimpered. His ass felt huge, suddenly, huge and obvious and downright explicit. Electricity shot down his nerves and back up, stuttering him forward, which just served to force him harder into Langly's hand. “Shit, Byers, is  _ that _ what you want me to give you?” Langly grabbed hold of his shoulder, switching the easy roll of his hips to a harder snap, curling his wrist just to watch Byers jerk.

Byers dropped his forehead to his hands, eyes shut. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead as the sensation thrummed through his body.  Lord help him but he did, he wanted it, he wanted Langly to make good on the promise driving against him, pinning him against the table. It was all true. Even the suit couldn't hide the filthy things he wanted anymore. He grit his teeth in futility against the noises spilling out of his throat, radiant heat building in his pelvis, even as the world went white behind his eyes and he pulsed into the hot hand clamped around his dick.

He was distantly aware of Langly wiping that hand down the leg of his slacks as he panted against the table. A hand tugged the tie free of his mouth, leaving it sitting next to him. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling of denim and the omnipresent sound of Langly's voice.

“... could just buy a guy a beer, like a normal person.”

   


***********************************

   


It took Byers twenty minutes in a very hot shower before he started to feel more like himself again. It was another luxury they probably couldn't afford – it was more than double the time of his normal showers – but it helped, and if Langly didn't like it, he could kiss his ass.

He choked on the thought, even as it passed through.

The jackets he'd brought out really were still in fine shape, if he were being honest, and he'd replaced them all in order on their rack first thing after he'd fled back to his room. Even the one he'd been wearing when... the one he'd been wearing earlier, it still seemed immaculate. The rest of the outfit was a write-off, however. The shirt needed washed, the tie was a mess, and the slacks... He flashed them a contemplative look, where they lay draped over his hamper. Crusted, whitish droplets had spattered all down one pantleg, and there was a huge smear across the front and along the inseam. There was no way around it. They were a garish reminder of what they'd done. What he liked. What he  _ was _ .

The tie went into the laundry. He could probably wear it another day without completely dissolving.

As for the pants, well... they went straight into the back of the closet.


End file.
